Mazie Pallinder was not a pretty girl; she was too tall and lank; and, except when she got her cheeks touched up, too pallid with her ink-black hair. But she had a certain air of lazy distinction, helped out by a real talent for dressing herself, and an unlimited purse—maybe an unlimited indifference to bills and tradesmen would be a better way of putting it.
"The first thing on the programme is to be 'William Tell,'" she said. "That's to have just men in it, you know. I think it's always best to have a lot more men than girls, and make them stand around. That's the way it is in the South, New Orleans, or Charleston, or anywhere I've ever been. You see them lined up all around the room waiting a chance, at dances, you know. All the girls have to split every waltz."
Bewildering dream of bliss! Somebody, recovering from the contemplation, wanted to know what "William Tell" would be like with only men in it?
"Oh, I've talked that all over with J. B." said Mazie. "It was his suggestion, you know. They gave it at college, his senior year, and, of course, all the parts were done by men. He said it was simply great. It's a take-off of the real 'William Tell.' What do you think? Doctor Vardaman asked if it was the real 'Tell,' and he said there was a beautiful adagio for the horn in the overture! I simply screamed—I laughed till I nearly fell over. You see the funny thing is there is a horn—but it's a dinner horn! Archie Lewis comes on with it when he sings his topical song. Archie's to be 'Tell,' you know. He's got a hit on everyone in town—they'll all be here in the audience, of course. It begins:
"'I'm a horny—horny—horny-handed
SON OF TOIL!
From Maine to California
You couldn't find a hornier,
And—and—I'm——
I can't remember the rest of it. He and J. B. wrote the verses—it's awfully funny, don't you think, Muriel? We've seen them go over parts of it."